Brazen
by Tokoyonokuni
Summary: Mai Kujaku is a classic showstopper, but I find myself falling for her geeky younger brother instead. Yugi Mutou—geek, short, male. Notice that I'm insulting him on purpose. It's a way of dissuading myself from falling further. Not that it's working...
1. Chapter 1

Eyes can appreciate aesthetics.

A particular girl in my school is exceptionally eye-catching—blonde hair, fair skin, heart-shaped face, luring eyes, luscious lips, and voluptuous figure.

Mai Kujaku is a classic showstopper, but I find myself falling for her geeky younger brother instead.

Yugi Mutou—geek, short,_ male._

Notice that I'm insulting him on purpose. It's a way of dissuading myself from falling further. Not that it's working... My eyes are trying to see through that ugly sweater of his. Damn this unfounded infatuation!

How did I fall for this guy?

Not to flaunt my ego or anything, but I'm quite popular. I've got girls nipping at my heels—yet I'm chasing after this midget.

Yes, I _might_ be gay. (I'm still halfway through my denial, so let's just go for bisexual.)

No, I'm not narcissistic. The only thing physically similar between us is our hairdo.

I'm taller than him.

"What is it?"

"Huh?"

"You were staring at me."

"No, I wasn't."_ I was trying to see through your clothes and was thinking about you, and _you_ just happened to be there._

"Oh... Uh, okay," he says, scratching his cheek with his finger and sporting a blush—and, no, I don't think it's cute!

He may look harmless, but don't let looks deceive you.

He doesn't completely conform to the typical geek's mold. For one, he's a fighter.

He transferred at the middle of the school year. He was four inches short of five feet and an instant teacher's pet—in other words, fresh meat for bullies. In fact, the predators' eyes zoned in on him on his first day of school. My locker was coincidentally next to his, so I had a front row seat to the whole incident.

The crowd parted like the red sea as Ushio, public enemy no.1 and self-proclaimed hall monitor, passed through, looming over the populace (and even more so on petite Yugi) with his mammoth height. With his lackeys in tow, it was no doubt the welcome wagon. They were on their daily patrol, making a special detour to greet the new _customer_ and collect the down payment for their future services. (They were bodyguards for forced hiring, paid to protect you from themselves.) But they couldn't even get a yen out of Yugi.

As it turned out, Yugi was stingy with his money. Angry words couldn't persuade him.

Ushio threatened him with a fist, but Yugi didn't take it lying down—instead with a flying kick to the crotch. It was impressive if not mildly frightening how he got the boulder of a man, Ushio, on his knees and squeaking like a rodent. I wasn't sure if that had been a wise move on Yugi's part—Ushio was a vindictive troll and was bound to take revenge sooner than later—but I knew that I'd hate to be at the receiving end of either of their wraths.

Yugi lost the teachers' favors the same day he received them but regained some just as quickly; he was splendid in Math and fluent in English. Ms. Chono, the-school-vixen-also-Japanese-teacher, however, disliked him—Yugi was atrocious with kanji and sibling to Domino High's hottest chick a.k.a. _competition_.

Ushio didn't show his ugly mug for four days straight. It was a celebrated holiday for his victims (quarter of the student body). Yugi's kick had been too hard a blow to both his balls and ego, and it took Ushio three days to recuperate and one more to plot his revenge.

Yugi became a legend, but nevertheless remained unnoticed. It was akin to David and Goliath, except nobody could pinpoint who David was. Yugi was spontaneous with disappearing acts: He didn't eat at the cafeteria and was rarely seen in the hallways yet never late for class. Also, the incident with Ushio had been brief, and nobody had a good look at Yugi. All they knew was that the student was short and had a distinguishable hairstyle; some even thought it was me (and I was kind of offended by that because I wasn't _that_ short).

When Ushio returned, he reported to the principal. Yugi pleaded self-defense and was let go without consequence. The principal didn't believe that such a frail looking teen could beat a giant like Ushio. Plus, Yugi played the innocent quite well: He could cry on cue. I know because I was brought in as a witness.

Ushio cornered Yugi later that day.

Yugi's foot did an encore on Ushio's balls.

I had a feeling that he could usurp Ushio's throne if he wanted to.

Despite the ass-kicking he's done, he is still a geek.

Living up to his name, he's an avid gamer and plays a wide variety of games. His favorite is a card game called Duel Monsters. He can spiel off about that topic for hours if he wanted to. He even brings his deck to school—that ever-present bulge in his right pocket—and it's the game's logo and characters that are often printed on his graphic tees.

His clothes are not flattering _at all_. His shirts are a size bigger than it should be, the sleeves almost past his elbows and much wider than his arms, and his pants are meant for someone taller, the ends rumpling on his shoes and reaching a bit to the floor. I wonder if he has this illusion of being tall or having the right build to fit those clothes of his.

Those thick-framed glasses don't accentuate his features either. Black rim glasses are in style, but I'm sure he could make do without them. The thick lenses obscure those pretty eyes of his. Such a pity.

He has amethyst irises, more attractive than Kujaku's plain violets. (The eyes and the pallid skin are the only similar traits between the siblings.)

On his way to his seat, his glasses got knocked off by an accidental bump from our classmate. They fell near my shoe, I picked it up for him, and our eyes met for two seconds before he took the glasses back. It was merely a glimpse, but I was enraptured.

It wasn't love at first sight. The first time I saw him had been by the lockers—when he kicked Ushio's crotch before fleeing the next second—and my heart hadn't been beating loudly then. Not even during that time in the classroom with him sans the glasses. But those eyes did linger in the back of my mind. Still, it wasn't a crush.

I was just appreciating aesthetics.

I decided to steal—_hide_ his glasses one time.

I had never seen him so clumsy.

He bumped into tables.

He ran into doors.

He hit a wall when he turned a corner.

He tripped on the stairs.

I broke his fall.

We ended up in a provocative position—chest to chest, me on the bottom, my arm around his waist, his hands clutching my shoulders, my legs apart, and him almost kneeing me on the groin. Our faces were inches from meeting. My cheeks were seconds from flaring while his were already putting tomatoes to shame.

His eyes were wide and clear aubergines, a captivating view.

The world stilled for a second.

I thought I should annihilate those glasses for good.

_"Y-Yami!?"_

_"Ah... yeah."_

_"S-sorry,"_ he stuttered, frantically untangling himself from me. _"Can't see without my glasses."_

They were prescription glasses. Oops.

I returned them later in English class. He accepted my apology with ease.

_"So, you're nearsighted?"_

_"That's an understatement. Didn't you notice how thick my lenses were when you stole them?"_

_"Really sorry about that."_

_"It's okay. At least, you returned them. Unlike other people..."_

_"Ever heard of contact lenses?"_

_"I have a firm belief that my eyeballs should not make contact with my fingers, or else they'll get intimate with my nails, and I'll be blinder than I already am."_ That was the most words I'd ever heard him say.

Yugi turns talkative when in English.

The teacher has keen ears for vernaculars and a sharp ruler for those who speak it during class; rule no.1 is 'speak English or don't speak at all,' and the students follow it meticulously. It's to Yugi's advantage since he's a transferee from the States. His awkward Japanese is often misconstrued as timidness. Given that the language spoken is English, he can actually hold a conversation.

Since then, I've been speaking the language when I'm with him. And I'm with him often at school.

I just have this urge to hover around him.

"Ushio still bothering you?"

"Yeah. He's still sour about his balls."

"You did kick them pretty hard. And twice."

"It's not my fault that they're so sensitive. He shouldn't have forced his condoms on me."

"...Condoms?"

"He said I should pay for 'protection.' No way am I gonna waste my money on something I can't even use."

"You just implied that you're a virgin."

"You're not?"

Cough. Awkward. "Not telling."

"Anyways, is Ushio a masochist or something? I've made it _painfully_ clear that I'm not buying what he's selling, yet he still keeps coming back. Is he dumb? Maybe a kick to the head would fix that. I should do that next time."

"There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Yugi."

"Then, I must be valiant."

He doesn't kick Ushio on the head the next day. He says his leg couldn't reach. I counter, "You're just too short," and earn a punch on the shoulder. It almost hurt.

"Pot calling the kettle black," he mutters before entering the classroom. I follow after.

We sit on our respective seats as the bell rings.

The teacher starts his discussion, writing on the board and speaking consecutively. His words come out as a drawl, going inside one ear and out the other. I'm more conscious of the jotting pens, especially the one on the adjacent desk, where Yugi sits. I'm trying to see through that ugly sweater again. He notices because I'm not being discreet, and he's a bit paranoid.

He turns red when I stare too long. His face is starting to match his hooded sweater. He wears a red one often because the color camouflages with the lockers littering the hallways—it's a tactic for evading bullies. He has dealt with a lot of them back in the States, and years of practice made him skilled at hiding. If possible, he'd rather avoid confrontations, but he wouldn't hesitate to fight if needed.

There's a bruise on his wrist.

I wonder if he got it from Ushio.

As for how I know so much details about Yugi...

No, I'm not a stalker.

I'm cousins with Seto Kaiba—he's an omniscient being—and we gossip... ?

Our mothers said make nice; random talks about random topics were the most we indifferent sons bothered with.

Seto's too smart for high school. He's a conglomorateur's son, already helping out in the business as a director. He's only here because of Aunt's orders (she wants him to make friends). Also, he's the reigning champion of Duel Monsters, and he's acquaintances—he abhors the word 'friends'—with Yugi.

I just made use of the serendipity.

Wolf whistles signal Kujaku and her clique's arrival.

Kujaku walks like she's on a runway, chin up, posture straight, heels clicking. Her blonde locks flow languidly behind her, trailed by her many admirers' eyes. She passes by without glancing our way. (Her friends wave to me, though.) Yugi doesn't make a show of knowing her either.

"Isn't Kujaku your sister? I've never seen you interact before," I say when she's out of earshot.

"How did you know that?" His brows furrow in suspicion.

"Seto."

"That blabbermouth. Should've known. It's always the quiet one that spills your secrets."

"It's a secret? I'm sure that the faculty knows, though. Haven't you notice Ms. Chono's glares."

"No, it's not a secret. I'm just trying to be discreet. Mai doesn't want people to know we're related. She doesn't really like me, so she keeps her distance."

"Why so?"

"She's too proud to hang-out with her bastard brother."

"Oh."

"It's okay. I don't like that stuck-up legit daughter either."

The sigh that follows entails that there's more to it than that, but it's too personal for me to ask.

There's always the omniscient Seto if I ever want to know.


	2. Chapter 2

Flying thirty-thousand feet off the ground...

What an awesome way to discover that you have a massive case of motion sickness and a developing acrophobia.

Suddenly, I didn't want to be tall anymore (though I would retract that statement the second I was back on motionless land). Even inside the car, I still felt like vomiting. I had been holding it in through sheer will.

I turned to the window, watching the sceneries fade too fast—which only reminded me that I got a maniac driver behind the wheel—and it didn't help ease my nausea at all. The buildings and trees turned to quick blurs as we passed them.

I envied the still trees, rooted to their spots, no annoying mother sending them off from one continent to another, transferring them (without them knowing initially) in the middle of the school year to a different school in a country whose language they could barely read, much less write, and when spoken by them was only a smidge past conversational. And said mother didn't even come with them, choosing instead to shack up with Boyfriend No.20 in the home which they had lived in their whole life and was impulsively uprooted from to move in with a relative that they didn't even know existed!

Though that spiel had only been in my mind, I found myself out of breath.

It was fortunate that I hadn't spoken it aloud. What a word vomit that would have been.

The churning in my stomach meant that I shouldn't speak anyway.

If I did, bile instead of words would come out, and Joey would not like Mom's leftover casserole all over the car floor. She had always been a bad cook, and my stomach was grumbling its delayed complaints. If I spew Mom's cooking, it would be even more unappealing than it already had been going in. Though I was tempted to do just that for the chance that it would stop the death ride I was in and for a few minutes of rest.

"_Yug', if ya puke in here, I'll deck ya."_

Joey glared from the rearview mirror. I glared back.

"_And I'll make ya pay for the cleanin'," _he added.

I was more threatened by the cleaning bill than the promise of physical harm. I strengthened my will, covering my mouth for good measure. I'd sooner choke on my bile than spend my money frivolously. I redirect my glare to the blurred colors on the window ('cause Joey was immune to stink eyes).

I bet trees didn't have supposed best friends who knew their weakness and wouldn't hesitate using it against them. Plus, trees were generally tall.

As I sat in the car, vision swimming and bile clogging my throat, I wished I were a tree instead.

We arrived at Domino City without incident. When the car stopped in front of Kame Games, I ran off to the first bush in sight. I was dry heaving when my long lost grandfather greeted me.

I finally knew where I got my epic hair from.

Before I could even speak, he enclosed me in a hug. His strength belied his age, and the tight grip made my stomach want to do a repeat performance.

"_Yubi, my child, you haven't aged a day!"_

And just my luck, the old man was delusional.

"He thought ya were yer mom!" Joey exclaims.

I regret bringing him here now.

He's my adoptive brother, and it's my first time away from home. It's sweet that he offered to stay here with me till I settle in, but he loves poking fun at me and reporting to Seto the minute details of my life, and it doesn't help that I spill everything to him either.

Maybe I should have risked getting lost. There might be pros in becoming a hermit: I'd be away from Mother Impulsive, Brother Nosy, Mr. Blackmailer, and Old Man Delusional, and pretend I was a tree...

Okay. Weird thoughts. There's something wrong with that medicine Grandpa gave me.

"The man's senile, I tell you."

I'm a boy. I do _not_ look like my mom—do I?

I stop and stare at my reflection on the window—okay, I have her eyes, bits of her blonde hair, and our faces are generally the same shape—and belatedly realize that it belongs to a dress shop. It might have looked like I was ogling over that gaudy pink dress. And judging by Joey's raised brow and amused smile, he thinks it is exactly what I'm doing.

"So... yer a girl now?"

I kick him on the shins for that comment. He buckles on his knees. It doesn't wipe his grin, though. He easily stands back up, brushing the dirt off his pants. He grins wider. "Wait till Seto hears about this. New blackmail material!"

"And you're supposed to be my friend?" I feel the betrayal that shouldn't have been there. Really, the medicine, what has it done?

"The best!"

I thought Asians were generally shorter than Americans.

I've always blamed my Asian blood for my disappointing height. But this guy, Ushio, is a behemoth! (Also, he has killed my dream of at least being average.) Two of my former bullies stacked up is nothing on him. Now I kinda wish Joey were here; he could sacrifice himself—_fight this guy_ while I run off to class. I'd bruised my wrists if I fought this hard mass, and I won't win without underhanded tricks. Joey, on the other hand, might survive—_win_ a clean fight.

"You have to pay for protection." Did he just say I had to pay for condoms?

"I don't want it. Won't spend money."

Seriously? Bullying people to buy condoms? Aren't condoms free? They were in my previous school, yet I didn't even take one; there's no way I'll pay for one now.

"You—pay—hurt—."

He's talking too fast for me to fully comprehend, but from the bits that I caught, I'm guessing he's _demanding_ that I pay. Not happening.

"Again. Won't spend money."

If I were better in Japanese I'd sass him. For now, I'll just settle with redundancy—I hear it can be quite vexing.

Damn, he's not backing off. He's threatening me with his fist now: I'm in for some pummeling. I know from experience not to expect help from the crowd, but I still wish that a brave soul or a teacher would come and interfere. Guess not. I'm gonna have to save myself then.

A kick to the nuts it is.

The guy falls on his knees, and I scram. I run without looking back, dearly hoping that giants aren't fast healers. Then, at least, I'll have time to prepare before the next attack; bullies are often the vengeful types after all. Hopefully, I'll get away with another dick-kick next time. But before anything like that happens, it's best to avoid the guy. (The hallways are littering with red lockers. Duly noted.)

I'll try to weasel my way out of detention later; I'm late for English.

Just when I think the worst of the day is over, I see _her._

Mai Kujaku, my half-sister, who hates me.

Here.

Now.

Glaring from across the cafeteria.

Great, she recognizes me. Here I was hoping she wouldn't.

She excuses herself from her friends, pointing at the phone in her hand. She walks the distance between us and leans on the wall next to me, the phone against her ear.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She's pretending it's a call. Clever.

"I'm enrolled here," I say to my lunch. I pretend it's her.

"You're supposed to be in America," she accuses. She says it as if I were exiled there and had committed a crime by leaving. I didn't come here by choice, and I didn't expect—nor did I want—to meet her either, so she can shove her resentment up her ass (if there's still room, with the stick already there) because I'm equally vexed.

"Not anymore, obviously." I poke my food with the spoon. She's making me lose my appetite.

"The whore with you?"

My grip tightens.

I'd hit her if she weren't a girl.

I stab the food instead.

"No."

"We don't know each other."

"Of course."

"Don't freeload on my house," she says last, sneaking in a glare before walking off.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I glare at her retreating back.

Our conversations are concise, and she always manages to insert insults in between.

This one isn't any different.

I wonder if she even knows the words hello and goodbye. I've never heard her say them. Her words are either a demand or an insult—at times, a mixture of both. When she talks to me, she's never pleasant, so I don't like hearing her voice. The fact that it sounds a lot like Mom's, only with venom and hate instead of affection in her tone, makes me hate hearing it even more.

I don't think we'll ever have a decent conversation.

I don't look forward to seeing her again, though it's inevitable because _apparently_ we're schoolmates now. At least I won't have classes with her—she's in higher year—and the places we'll likely meet are only the hallways and the cafeteria.

I turn my attention back to my forgotten lunch.

The tater tots have turned to mashed potatoes. I stabbed it too much. Still, it's the only thing edible in my tray.

The food here is the same as my old school's: the meat surprise can't be trusted.

How did it turn purple? It kinda reminds me of Mom's cooking. Probably tastes as bad or worse. Not gonna test it, though. I know my mother won't poison me, but I can't be sure about the lunch lady. Better safe than sorry.

Definitely avoiding the cafeteria next time.

I spend the rest of the day memorizing the school interior, just in case. When I come home, I find Grandpa and Joey in the kitchen. Grandpa is cooking dinner, Joey is stuffing his face with what's left in the fridge, and I have to go buy groceries tomorrow.

I watch my brother help himself to another giant sandwich (it's as big as my head). I suspect that half of each condiment is in there; the glass jars are on the table, all half-empty. I wonder why Grandpa isn't reprimanding him.

"How was yer first day?" Joey asks.

"The worst one yet."

He moves to ruffle my hair. I swat his hand away 'cause it's smeared with mustard.

"I'm sure, it'll get better," he assures.

I doubt his words.

It's been two weeks.

Ushio is still hunting me.

Mai is a bitter bitch.

Kanji is being difficult.

And someone stole my glasses.

I grumble, bumping to another person as I blindly search for Enemy No.4. (Enemy No.3 is the Japanese teacher who keeps glaring at me.)

It's only the second week, yet my enemies have doubled. At this rate, by the end of the month, I'll have either eight or sixteen enemies (depends if two is a factor or an exponent). It'll be arduous trying to avoid that many people.

"Ow." Another wall. Damn. Where the hell are my glasses?

Why am I so intent on finding them?

Glasses are expensive.

And I don't think I'll be able to cross the streets safely without them. My sides still hurt from bumping into tables; imagine how worse it would be if it were cars and getting run over. How am I supposed to get home?

Calling Joey to pick me up is a hazard in itself, not to mention a waste of gas (which is also expensive), so that option's for the desperate.

Have these stairs always been here—shit!

"Ugh..." I hear a voice under me. I must have fallen on someone. I try to lift myself up, but there's an arm restraining my waist.

That face looks familiar.

"Y-Yami?"

"Ah... yeah."

His eyes are a natural shade of red. Huh, I've often thought they were contacts—I can actually see? That means—_eek, too close!_

"S-sorry." I quickly untangle myself from him.

My face feels warm. I hope it's not red.

I fumble for an excuse. "Can't see without my glasses."

"Actually, I have it. The glasses I mean... Sorry."

Wait... "What?"

"I'll give it back to you," he quickly adds.

The school bell rings.

"We'll be late for class. Let's go," he says and grabs my hand, pulling me along with him. My legs work on auto.

My mind is still processing this... He stole my glasses, he apologized, and now he's returning it to me? Is this supposed to be bullying? I don't think it's working right.

We arrive at the classroom.

"I'm really sorry. Here," he says, handing me my glasses.

Not broken. No cracks. Doesn't smell like it's been dipped in urine or anything. He really didn't do anything to it (other than steal it of course.) He stands in front of me, waiting for my verdict. I wonder...

"Why did you steal it?"

"Um... I was curious?"

I raise my brow at him because that was _not_ a justified explanation. (I'm curious if old people could get amnesia from falling down stairs, but you don't see me pushing Grandpa down a set.)

"I'm sorry. I didn't know they were prescription glasses," he adds, looking bashful, with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. His motive is dubious, but his apology seems genuine enough, and I find it hard not to forgive. If I had narcissism, he'd be appealing to it right now—he vaguely looks like me if I were a head taller, and I've been stuck below five feet for sixteen years, so the extra ten inches are enviable.

"I forgive you. But if you do this again, I'm gonna kick you," I tell him.

He looks stunned for a moment, then he chuckles. He must think I was joking. How foolish of him.

"How did you know my name by the way?" he asks.

"We're classmates."

"You know all of your classmates' names already?"

"No, just yours."

"Really?"

"Not really. I'm joking." _There's also Miho, Anzu, Ami, and Honda. All your names are only two syllables so it's easy to remember._

The teacher enters the room. The students move to their respective desks, and I find Yami sitting next to mine.

"Today we'll be doing pair work exercises. Choose your partners, and turn to page 206 of your textbook," the teacher announces.

Three girls approach Yami's desk. "Do you have a partner yet, Sennen-kun?" the brunette, Anzu, asks. She has spoken for the other two with her. Miho is blushing, partially hiding behind Anzu and avoiding Yami's eyes. The third girl—don't know her name—is glaring furtively at Anzu.

Yami must be popular.

"I have one in mind."

He turns to me. "Partners?"

"Sure."

I can feel the third girl's glare.

The real Enemy No.4 has shown herself.


	3. Chapter 3

"_I heard ya made a friend."_

Joey waltzed into my room like he owned the place. He didn't even knock—not that he ever does.

"_Who told you?"_ I asked.

"_Who else?"_

The answer came in a second. I felt foolish for asking.

"_How did _Seto _know?"_

He plopped himself on the bed and opened the bag of chips he had with him. Great, crumbs on _my_ bed. I wondered if I was destined to be siblings with impolite people.

"_He goes to yer school."_

What a small world.

"_And yer friend is his cousin."_

The world got even smaller.

"_Should I remain friends with this guy? I like Seto, but I'm not sure I can tolerate two of him."_

"_Nah, don't worry. Ya've met Mokie__.__T__hey're brothers but they're nothin' alike, so his cousin should be fine. Pretty sure Seto's the only prick in the family." _How he stayed coherent with a mouthful of food was still impressive. It might have been his greatest talent.

"_I'll go tell Seto you said that."_

"Good morning, Yugi."

It's Yami again.

"Good morning," I reply, walking over to our lockers.

I've been hanging out with him a lot lately. Who would have thought that stealing my glasses was an act to instigate friendship? I guess that was him being creative? More like awkward really, but effective nonetheless. Still, this friendship incurred me another enemy, so I'm debating if it's worth it.

Vivian Wong—Enemy No.4—is a Yami fanatic, and she leaves weird things in my locker. It's always inside a box, a paper taped at the top cover saying: Get away from him! (or any variation of the phrase), and it smells. The awful stench is coming from my locker again; I don't need to open it to know that Vivian left me another gift.

I know the culprit is Vivian because she wore a satisfied smirk the first day I got a box of rotten eggs. Also, the handwriting on the paper is feminine, and her initials are written. I'm guessing her looks makes up for her brain.

I think it's a dead animal this time.

Or poop.

Probably got one of her fanboys to do the dirty work for her.

She's pretty attractive, so she's bound to have a few. She wears her skirts too short and opens a button too many on her top; I spot some of our classmates drooling over her long legs when she walks between Yami's and my desks. (Is she flaunting her height? It's the only thing I envy.)

And she sneaks a glare every chance she gets.

She acts as if I'm pursuing a romantic relationship with Yami. Is she seriously threatened by me? I'm a boy, damn it! I'm not nifty enough to make someone turn to the other side!

"What's that smell?" Yami's voice brings me back from my thoughts.

"My locker. Someone mistook it as their garbage dump," I answer.

Yami doesn't know about Vivian. I didn't want him to feel guilty, though he did inadvertently cause this. Maybe I'll make him buy me a sandwich to compensate.

"Again? You should really report this." There's concern in his voice.

"It's fine. I'm not using the locker anyways. Let them waste their effort."

I open the locker, and, as expected, the perpetual box is present.

Today's greeting: Fuck off Bitch!

How crude.

Whatever. Not gonna open it. I just keep the attached papers for when I lose my patience and decide to tell on her (and use it as blackmail if possible). Usually, I would take the box and throw it to the trash myself, but I really can't be bothered anymore; let the janitor find the mess to clean. I've stopped using the locker, and I have a backpack for my books. Though my back aches a bit from the added weight, all I can do is mentally curse at Vivian because I don't hit girls.

I only stop by the lockers to meet Yami before class because his locker is next to mine and we only have the same schedule from third period onwards. It's nice to see a friendly face before I brace myself for the enemies loitering the school, enemies which are steadily multiplying now that I have Vivian's fanboys—and other Yami fangirls, maybe?—to account for.

I feel a headache coming on. Rubbing my forehead doesn't really help.

"You okay?"

"Fine. Just want to pull someone's hair out." _Specifically Vivian's._

"As long as it's not mine. I don't think I can pull off bald. Plus, my stock of hair gels will turn useless," he jokes.

"You could give them to me."

"No, I'm sure you have a stock of your own."

He grins at me, and I feel a smile of my own. I laugh, the noise echoing when he joins in. I suddenly feel lighter. His attempt to make it better is greatly appreciated.

"You can share my locker if you want," he suggests. He opens his locker, and it's only half-filled. "Lighten half of the load."

My smile widens.

"Thanks."

You know what? It is worth it.

I like having this guy around.

Screw you, Vivian.

The Japanese teacher keeps glaring at me.

It's unfair that I'm the only one getting this treatment when there are five of us keeping her in this room. In my opinion, she should glare at the kid behind me: He's clearly not even trying to learn, what with his pen poking at my back instead of on paper, and the incessant hitting on the same spot means he's not writing kanji on my shirt.

Never have I thought I'd find getting noticed by girls so bothersome. Now I have three attractive women who have their eyes on me; it's hard to fall in love with any of them when they all glare at me and one of them is my sister. I miss the blatant disregard the females gave me in my old school.

I have special classes for Japanese. I stay an extra hour after the regular class so the teacher can help me catch up with the other students. The special classes are compulsory for the foreign students and optional for the returnees. Vivian is in the same class because she's Chinese. I'm here because I'm way behind on my Kanji.

I can't help but be horrible at it. I've lived in America my whole life, Japanese hadn't been taught in school, and Mom wasn't much of a teacher. The kanji I learned are only the ones on my Japanese trading cards.

Writing the strokes in the right order is essential.

Memorizing the number of strokes and the order it's written in is annoying.

Ms. Chono and I aren't compatible. Her teaching style is a drab, the subject is just as boring, and the atmosphere isn't great for learning: the glaring teacher, the glaring classmate, and the kid poking my back with his pen. This place is short of paperball comets and note-passing.

My trading cards are better at teaching me Kanji.

Ms. Chono can glare all she wants. It won't help me improve.

She'll sooner give herself wrinkles if she keeps at it. Considering how she values her beauty (judging from the thick makeup), she might be a bit thankful if I tell her to stop it. Before she whacks me with her new ruler, that is. The ruler is a gift from the English teacher who's pining for her. Poor Mr. Andou is blinded by her face and doesn't know what he's in for.

The bell rings. I pack my things within seconds, and my feet carries me to the door with haste. I'm the first one out the room.

When I see Yami waiting by the lockers again, it's not even a surprise.

We walk together, our chatting idle. Other voices are blending in the background, but I can still hear him perfectly. Not for the first time do I note his baritone voice. I wish mine were as deep. The sound is pleasant to the ears.

He buys two sandwiches and a bottle of water for lunch, then we head out of the cafeteria. I pack my lunch every day and accompany Yami to the cafeteria so he can buy his before heading to an empty classroom to eat.

I notice Anzu and Miho waving to Yami more than I do Mai when she passes by. Yami stares at me, then at Mai, and back again like he knows something others don't. It makes me suspicious.

"Isn't Kujaku your sister? I've never seen you interact before," he asks when the girls are gone.

"How did you know that?"

"Seto."

"That blabbermouth. Should've known. It's always the quiet one that spills your secrets."

"It's a secret? I'm sure that the faculty knows, though. Haven't you notice Ms. Chono's glares." So Ms. Chono is glaring at me because of Mai? Really?

"No, it's not a secret. I'm just trying to be discreet. Mai doesn't want people to know we're related. She doesn't really like me, so she keeps her distance."_ And that distance had been eight thousand kilometers before recent._

I suppose it won't hurt me if Yami knows. He seems trustworthy enough. The only person who could be harmed if this information leaks is Mai since she's the one with a reputation to protect.

"Why so?"

"She's too proud to hang-out with her bastard brother."

"Oh."

"It's okay. I don't like that stuck-up legit daughter either."

I find myself sighing, though I'm not sure why.

Joey is a worshiper of fast food.

So when he found out that there was a Burger World branch in Domino he was ecstatic. (He thinks McDonald's is overrated.) _"It's in Japan, but they have American portion sizes!"_ he raved. He had been complaining about how small the burgers were in the other restaurants during the first week.

Now I'm sitting here in Burger World with Seto. We're waiting for Joey to come back with the food. He sure is taking his time.

"So you added Yami to the Yugi forum. Don't you have better things to do than gossip about me?"

"My cousin has a crush on you. I'm just humoring him."

"Three years I've known you, Seto. Now you suddenly have a sense of humor!" I laugh, but it dies off when I see Seto's face: not even a smirk. The sight drowns the mirth in me as well.

Is he serious?

"You are joking, right?"

He just stares, and it's enough for an answer.

He's waiting for me to combust. Three, two, one—

"I'm a guy!"

"Could've fooled me, Yugi."

"I have a dick."

"That thing you carry around in your jeans? I believe it's pronounced:_ deck._"

Ooh, insulting my manhood, are we? Two can play at that game.

"Kaiba Tower's a pretty tall one. Compensating for something, _Kaiba_?"

"I challenge you to a duel, _Mutou._"

"You're on!"

"Hey! It better not be a sword fight!" Joey interjects. He's back from the counter, a mountain of burgers and fries on his tray. I swear it's gonna topple over me if he comes any closer.

Wait... Me. Seto. Swords?

"Joey!" I hiss at him when the implication dawns on me.

Seto glares at the new arrival. Joey is unfazed. He shoves a handful of fries in his mouth and turns to Seto. "What? I don't wanna see ya bumpin' uglies. Ya'll contaminate Yug' here." Don't talk with your mouth full—he has always disregarded this rule.

"I'm not gay, Wheeler." Seto's glare is looking permanent.

"If yer _insinuatin'_ that he's gay, then why can't ya be gay too? It takes one to know one, y'know." Joey points a fry at Seto before munching on it.

"Big word. Pity you didn't choke on it."

"It's bigger than your tower," I retort.

Seto abruptly stands from his chair, leaning over the table to overshadow me—"Are you trying to intimidate me with your _other_ height—Ow!"—and flicks my forehead. Hard.

"You have _neither,_" he says, tone grave and face too close for comfort. If it weren't for the glint in his eyes, indicating his amusement, I'd think he was gonna stab me. I quell my fight-or-flight impulse 'cause he's my friend (and his hand is on the back of my chair—damn his long limbs—restraining it to the ground and me to it, and if I punch him, I'll get two and a kick in return). Even though I know he's just playing, this invasion of personal space still grates on my nerves, and he knows this.

He smirks before backing off.

"Why don't ya two just use measurin' sticks and get this over with. The bathroom's over there." We both glare at Joey this time. He's too busy gobbling his food to care.

"Is this a bad time?"

I turn to the direction where the familiar voice came from.

"Yami?"

"Hey," he greets with a wave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Coincidence... ?"

That was definitely a question.

His eyes turn to Seto before adding: "Seto invited me."

Seto's smirk is looking conceited.


	4. Chapter 4

Yesterday my cousin and I had the most _interesting_ conversation.

One I kind of wish did not happen.

Because it got me thinking about my _not-_crush on a certain someone even more (as if my thoughts didn't wander to said person often enough), threatening my blissful veil of denial, which already sported tatters and holes, and, now that I'm three-fourths over the fact that he's male, a rip _tearing_.

"_Are you going to confess to Yugi soon?"_

The question sprang out of thin air and had me half spluttering, half choking. The Sprite I had been drinking went up instead of down and into the wrong pipe, leaving a burning sensation on the back of my throat and inside my nostrils. The carbonated liquid spurted from my nose. Gross.

Did Seto wait for the exact moment when I was chugging my Sprite to ask _that _question?

His timing was just too _glorious._

My cousin had been droning on about the weather or something minutes ago—conversational cues from Aunt, no doubt—then suddenly that came up. I was usually the one who started the Yugi topic here. This was a calculated move, I was sure.

Seto must want to make a soda fountain out of me.

"_W-what?!"_ I managed to spit between my coughing. It took me a minute to clear my throat.

"_You owe me a Sprite,"_ I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and vaguely wondering if some snot had mixed with the liquid—again, gross. _"And what the hell are you talking about?"_

He raised a brow, disappointed at my response. His deadpan face was practically asking: _Really, Yami?_

He knew that I knew what it was, and pretending to not know wouldn't work with him, but the extent of what he knew was what I wanted to know, and that scheming smirk meant that he must know _a lot, _the omniscient being he was, but, damn, _what_ did he know?!

...Did my vocabulary just shrink?

"_You're a closet narcissist. Yugi's the perfect match for you," _he continued when I didn't respond, like a tolerant teacher who was stating a fact his student was too stupid to notice.

"_Narcissist? Seems like you're speaking from experience. Did the cloning experiment finally work? Am I meeting Set-2 anytime soon?_" I feigned excitement, peering behind Seto for his hypothetical clone.

Seto's eye twitched, a sign of his slight annoyance and my small victory.

"_By the way, you should name her/him that: _Set-2_. It'll stick," _I added. This time, I was the one smirking.

"_You're a closet narcissist. __Set-2's the perfect match for you." _When I tossed his words back at him, it was all the more satisfying.

"_So you won't be confessing to Yugi?"_

And we were back on topic. He just wasted my skillfully executed subject change right there.

"_We're just _friends_."_ I emphasized the word so it would be imprinted in that thick head of his, not that it made it convincing. _"Where are you getting these ideas from?"_

_Did Aunt force you to watch teen dramas with her to cope with her midlife crisis, again?_

I would have followed with that if Seto didn't know about Mom's monthly Chick Flick Sundays (mandatory bonding time). The Mama's boys we lot were; at this point, Mokuba would become the manliest kin.

"_With the way your eyes and legs trail after him, if Yugi wasn't so incredibly dense at times, you'd be labeled a creep by now," _Seto stated in that condescending tone of his.

How did he even know that? Did he install cameras in school—wait, the school probably had them beforehand. Then, maybe he hacked them, or maybe he had a spy, which could be why I never saw any friends of his in school because they were actually ninjas. Bets on the Kuro kid who rarely showed up in class.

How else would he have known? I made sure to be subtle when I asked about Yugi, displaying nothing but curiosity and only asking every other day. I was quite proud of my acting skills.

It shouldn't have been _that _obvious.

"_It's so obvious."_

I swore I'd find the secret to his omniscience soon and use it against him. I'd be a blackmailing prodigy right after that.

"_Is it as _glaring _as your unrequited love for Blue Eyes?"_ I retorted, referring to Seto's fanatic interest on the Blue Eyes White Dragon cards that stemmed from when we were six and festered as we grew older.

There were only four of the cards in existence, and three were in Seto's hands while the fourth continued to elude his grasp. Seto was thirteen when he gave up the search and had a Blue Eyes themed room built in their mansion to settle his frustration. He even dyed his hair green back then as a symbol of how he was_ green with envy_ for the person who held the last card and wished the card would just _perish if it wasn't ending up in his hands._

Aunt absolutely shrieked, and since then Seto received special attention from her and steered away much of her meddling from Mokuba.

Mokuba and I agreed that it was the best birthday party _ever._

Now, at seventeen, Seto had a Blue Eyes White Dragon _jet. _How obsessively awesome.

I saw his brown hair, and the nostalgia broke. His eye was twitching again; he knew where my thoughts had drifted. Must be the effective guessing we had developed over the years.

"_I bet you'll fall for Yugi."_

The way he changed subjects lacked finesse. He should really learn from me.

"_I'm not playing this game."_

Betting games were above my level of maturity, I just decided.

"_Afraid you'll lose?"_ Seto challenged.

I wasn't 'afraid,' just too _mature_ for this. It seemed, apart from height, Seto hadn't grown yet, and here I was, with the not-as-tall (shorter: _forbidden_ _word_) height but with a higher level of maturity.

Ah... life's trade-offs.

And was it just me, or did Seto's lines sounded like it came straight out of a chick flick? Like one where the protagonist made a bet with the antagonist to date the school geek, later on, falling for said geek and dumped by said geek because said geek found out about the bet from the antagonist. It could as easily come from a teen drama when I thought about it.

I saw no pros in this plotline.

Then again I had fallen asleep towards the ending when I had watched that with Mom—Ugh. Mokuba watched _action_ and _horror_ movies... Officially the manliest.

"_I don't need to play when I already know I'll win. It's boring."_

"_On the contrary, I think you don't _want_ to play because you know you'll_ lose._"_

I leveled Seto with a glare. He returned it with a nonchalant stare.

My chick flick knowledge said I should refuse, so did my logic, but pride was shouting:_ Challenge accepted! _And he was quite the boisterous fellow indeed.

"_Fine. What am I supposed to bet with?" _I conceded.

"_Obelisk,"_ he answered, the quick response a note for suspicion.

I remembered getting that God card when I was twelve. It was from a booster pack that Seto gave me and regretted giving after. He dueled me for the card and lost each duel during that week: Obelisk kept showing up and the two Blue Eyes Seto had back then were no match.

I'd grown out of the game two years ago, Obelisk was somewhere between my math book's pages, and I wouldn't mind losing the card to Seto. But just in case I did win...

"_Bet two Blue Eyes, and you got yourself a deal."_

"_Deal."_ Didn't even skip a beat; he must be confident.

A faint yet audible voice said that losing this one was inevitable and that I should look for Obelisk when I get home, or else I'd be pressed for time when Seto asks for it later.

And that _later_ might be sooner than I expected.

But I was oh so intent on denial.

A confession, after school and on the rooftop.

How cliché.

Except it's not spring.

It's the middle of November instead, the winds in such a height are stronger, lashing against bare skin. I can think of places I'd rather be: closer to the ground, indoors, or both. I'm not fond of winter, and being up here, where it's significantly _colder _than downstairs, just adds up to that sentiment.

The dreaded season came early this year. The snowing has been sporadic at most, and it isn't snowing now, but the air is colder than when it does. I feel the goose bumps already forming on my skin, and I wish I'd brought a thicker jacket (like the leather one I shouldn't have left in the laundry). My bottom lip is chapped when I bite it, my teeth peeling dead skin, and the dry air itches my throat when I inhale.

Three days' worth of snow is piled up on my yard, waiting to be shoveled, and the shovel is somewhere in the shed, waiting to be found. My mother will be in the house, nagging because I'll let the snow pile another day. Dad's away for business, Mom's the authority, and I'm the only son—thus the chore slave—but I don't feel up to manual labor when it's _freezing_.

A gust of wind blows harshly, the cold biting my cheek, and my irritation grows.

Why am I out here again?

"Sennen-kun," a voice interrupts my thoughts.

Oh yeah, cliché confession ongoing.

I'd almost forgotten she was there.

Complaining about the weather while a damsel is demanding my attention—it speaks tenfold about my sexuality, doesn't it?

My thoughts impulsively stray to Yugi. I wonder if he already went home. He and a classmate were assigned to clean the room, and I was going to meet him by the lockers after. We would walk home together, but not today, it seems. Mazaki called me out under the pretense of schoolwork, and I'm a bit annoyed that I missed Yugi because of her.

Mazaki and I are research partners in Biology, and a project is due next week. But the absence of reference books and the fact that she asked to meet in the rooftop—I was hoping it would be for the internet reception, but she didn't bring her laptop either, so no—mean there won't be any progress on said project today.

And it's been put off a week already. Sigh.

I keep my annoyance to myself, though; I've been raised better and girls should be respected. But still, I am annoyed.

Mazaki is fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. She's dressed up in pastels and cotton, lovely to the eyes but flimsy against the freeze, and I think her efforts are wasted on me.

"Actually, there's something I've been meaning to ask." She looks so nervous, lips quivering, yet her words don't come out as a tremble.

She's known to be quite the social butterfly, considering that she's Kujaku's friend, but this girl standing in front of me is out of character.

She acts shy around me. I've long noticed her crush, but quite some time has passed, so I've not thought she would choose to confess _now_—especially at a time when I've gained a (not so) vague idea of what genuine attraction is like, making me feel sympathetic towards her. It almost seems strategic on her part.

The wind tussles her hair, but the brunette strands swiftly return to their place, framing her face nicely. Her blue eyes are often bright, though they are hidden by her bangs at the moment. She is pretty. Not as pretty as—still, pretty. And she's nice, from what I've heard and noticed myself.

She would be a perfect girlfriend. A lot of guys would want to be in my shoes right now, falling at the sight of this girl, saying yes even before a confession.

But there's a lingering voice that says I can't fall for her.

Because I'm falling for someone else.

And as I look at her blushing cheeks, I see Yugi's instead.

I could tell the truth, or I could lie through my teeth, either way my answer is no.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asks, her gaze on her shoes instead of making eye-contact. She has a habit of phrasing thoughts into questions instead of getting straight to the point.

Her hand is rubbing against her arms; it's either the nerves or the cold. I'd lend her my jacket if it wouldn't possibly mislead her. (The last time I lent my jacket to a girl, it was never returned, and a rumor of me dating said girl broke out the next day.) It's better to just end this quickly, so we can go back inside, where it's warmer.

(And maybe I could still catch up to Yugi if I'm lucky.)

"No." At the answer she raises her head, azure eyes looking hopeful, and I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe I should have lied.

"I don't want one," I state bluntly. Her eyes dim in a second, face crestfallen, and it makes me think I should have soften the blow.

I can only imagine how terribly nerve-wrecking this must be for her, but I wonder if she has any idea how awkward this is for me. How it always is. It's difficult to comfort a crying girl if you're the cause of her tears. And I'm out of practice. I haven't received any confession in a while since I avoid them like the plague.

I think it should be the guy who courts the girl, not the other way around. I've rejected all of the confessions before, and news travel fast in this school. I have an inkling that someone has been keeping a list of the rejected.

The others know that making advances on me is pointless, so I'm not sure what prompted her to do this when many are dissuaded. Should I applaud this girl for her determination?

Her posture straightens, and she looks me in the eyes, her own ablaze. The confidence that has always accompanied her stance is back. Mazaki's not easy to give up, and she's just making things harder for me. "Sennen-kun... I—"

My phone interrupts her, Jaws Theme Song playing—I got a text from Seto. I regard it as a welcomed intervention despite its dooming tune.

I take the phone from my pocket. Seto's name appears on the screen, and I'm struck with an idea for escape.

I've already given my answer. Even if she can't accept it, I'm not obligated to please her.

"Sorry. It's my cousin. I have to go."

"Jaws... for Kaiba-san?" She sounds apprehensive.

I set the ringtone this morning; I had a feeling that I pissed Seto yesterday, and I wanted a warning before his payback. He's more vindictive than Ushio, and picks at the slightest of things, I swear. But I'm not telling her that.

"Yeah. It means it's urgent," I comment, opening the text.

_Your crush has a date. Burger World._

My mind instantly relays that it's a bait and that I'll lose Seto's game if I bite.

But my legs don't have ears to listen, and I'm heading to the stairs. I turn to Mazaki, halfway out the door. "Bye," I bid curtly, not waiting for a reply.

"But—" her voice is cut off when I turn the corner.

It comes to mind how rude that was of me, but it's an afterthought I'm not going to dwell on; Burger World is a while away, and I've miles to run. I would hail a taxi, but my wallet is in my leather jacket, which is at home. I really shouldn't have left it in the laundry.

I see Seto leaning over Yugi, and I feel a spark of jealousy ignite.

It's hard to deny my feelings when I hear my insides shouting _mine, mine, mine!_ I'm being unreasonably territorial, and to someone who _isn't_ actually mine.

But feelings aren't rational.

And I'm _feeling_ _so much_ that I almost ignore the part of my brain commanding me to be _rational._

The fact about Seto: He isn't gay.

If anything, he's asexual._ Not gay._ And for the _slightest_ chance that he _were,_ he _wouldn't_ fall for someone who looked strikingly like his cousin. That would be kind of incest, a total turnoff.

He'd sooner bang his Blue Eyes White Dragon themed desk—God knows his attraction to that rare card is an obsession.

And if Seto had been hiding a secret desire for me, I'd be the first to notice. We've known each other for years, and I'm good at reading people. For instance: that sheen on Yugi's eyes as they look into Seto's is not attraction, but _fear._

...What exactly is happening here?

Seto wears a condescending smirk as he retracts to his chair, like he won a battle. He gives a quick glance my way and got even smugger. I'm a second late on hiding. He knows I'm here.

Now that Seto is back on his seat, I have a clear view of a third occupant: a blond sitting in front of my cousin and wolfing on the food. The speed and amount at which he eats is astounding. He says something I don't hear, the other two simultaneously glare at him, and my thoughts wanders between blackmail dates and a triad.

"Is this a bad time?"

Yugi's head turns to my direction, so quick it's a snap. His eyes widen behind his glasses, the violets almost peeking over. Pretty as always. "Yami?"

"Hey." I wave a hand.

"What are you doing here?" Yugi asks.

I fight for the awkwardness not to show. God, I didn't think this through.

"Coincidence... ?" My eyes lock with Seto's, and I'm reminded of the text that brought me here in the first place. With a searing realization, I've willingly fallen into his trap.

Goodbye Obelisk.

At least, I've found my excuse: "Seto invited me." _Not really, but he might as well have._

I spot my cousin's split second smirk before it fades to apathy. He must find this amusing.

"You did?" Yugi turns to Seto, questioning.

I pray to God that Seto won't tell on me.

"Of course, I did," Seto says with his routine indifference, the glint in his eyes contradicting his tone. Was that sarcasm? With Seto, it's hard to tell—unless you've grown up with the guy, which I have, then, yes, that was sarcasm. But Yugi doesn't need to know that. Can't have him thinking I'm his stalker now, can we?

"Ya must be Yami. Have a seat!" The blond greets in English. American.

He shakes my hand and pulls me to the chair next to his, catching me by surprise. Yugi is across the table, smiling sheepishly. There's a red mark on his forehead, a match with the tinge on his cheeks except darker.

Did he hit his forehead recently?

"How do you know my name?" I inquire the stranger.

"Yugi forum." I think he said something esoteric.

"It's an inside joke," Seto states before I could ask. Effective guessing is on its works again.

"By the way, you are?"

"I'm Joey Wheeler," he announces with a voice full of enthusiasm and a mouth stuffed with food. It's a wonder how he's coherent when he adds: "Yugi's brother."

Does no one share the same name in Yugi's family? Is this guy a half-sibling too? I face Yugi, honestly curious. "Another one. How many siblings do you have?"

Yugi sneaks a glance at Joey. The blond is stacking two burgers on top of each other and trying to fit it into his mouth. The lady at the next table is cringing at his version of decorum, and her company—I'm guessing her boyfriend—is taking a picture. "Right now? None."

"He's adopted. Yugi will not turn out like him," Seto assures. Joey throws a balled up wrapper at his face. Seto kicks him under the table. Joey kicks back, and the table is overturned. The fries flew, and some landed on Yugi's hair, now blending with his blond fringe, while a soda spilled on my shirt.

I have tough luck with sodas these days. It's a good thing I'm wearing black; the wet stain is not noticeable.

My cousin and Yugi's brother are bickering, the table is still on its side, and Yugi's picking fries from his hair and not paying them mind. The boyfriend is now recording a video, and we've gained the rest of the diners as audience.

Yugi scoots his chair away. He leans against our table, a hand shielding the side of his face and big eyes looking up—adorable—and whispers, "I don't know these people."

I follow his lead.

"Neither do I."


	5. Chapter 5

Yugi and I moved to the seats outside Burger World.

Half of the diners were watching, and Yugi didn't want to be part of the show, so he casually walked out the door, tray in hand (a burger and fries were the only food saved from being catapulted by the flipped table, mainly because they were placed on our side). Deciding Yugi would be a better company than the bickering couple—though choosing wasn't really a dilemma—I sauntered right after him.

Seto and Joey were too busy bickering to notice the employee trying to placate them, much less us vacating our seats.

"Sneaking away with the food without Joey noticing: a common miracle when the two of them are busy spitting insults at each other," Yugi randomly comments when we are seated. It's a hint on Joey's massive food dependency, though the spectacle of the blond gobbling food earlier is more than enough of a clue.

"Then again it doesn't really qualify as a miracle if it has happened two or more times already..." he notes absently, head turned to the glass window that looks inside. He dons a bored expression as he watches, like the quarrels between Seto and Joey are mundane routines he has witnessed before. "If they notice our absence before the manager is called, I'll be impressed."

"I'm guessing this happens often."

He nods in agreement, taking a fry from the tray and dipping it in ketchup. "Usually, there's no table flipping when it's meal time, though. Food is precious to Joey," Yugi mumbles with a fry between his teeth, munching, then licking off the the bit of ketchup stuck on his lower lip—how appetizing... the_ fries,_ I mean. I regret not buying one for myself.

Now if only he were in the menu...

"Couldn't we just leave them behind?" _I really want to leave them behind._

"No. That would be rude," he reprimands, brows furrowed and lower lip jutting in an almost pout. Cute. Is he doing this consciously?

"Then, shouldn't we stop them?" I try.

I earn an incredulous stare for that suggestion.

"And risk getting roped in? No, thank you." He jabs my forehead as if trying to restart my noggin—"Besides, we don't know those people, _remember?_"— leaning a little closer in doing so. Amethyst eyes widen, and Yugi quickly retracts to his chair. "Ahk! Ketchup!"

He hurriedly rubs at his sleeve with a tissue, successfully spreading the stain instead of cleaning it off with the excessive force he's using. The red on his face must be from frustration, but it's as if he's blushing.

I ponder over Yugi's words. Simply leaving our companions without notice is 'rude,' but, apparently, pretending not to know them doesn't fall on the same category. What a curious logic.

I look back to the two still inside. They're fisting each other's clothes, Seto is scowling, and Joey is snarling. They must have run out of insults.

A bit of surprise creeps in when I notice Seto's eye twitch (it's a show of annoyance only a few can elicit from him, and that few consists of family and flamboyant business partners). It seems I have underestimated one of two things: how well Joey knows Seto and how annoying Joey can be. Maybe it could be a combination of both but leaning more on the latter.

I haven't spoken to Joey beyond our introduction, so I shouldn't really judge him yet, but there's this air around the guy that just shouts _too happy,_ and that would definitely clash with Seto's dark and gloomy _and sadistic,_ immensely. But opposites attract, right? The spark of electricity between them is almost visible even from here. The sight strangely reminds me of the chemistry between Seto's parents, and, suddenly, I think Seto could be gay after all... or _turning._

Wow, I make homosexuality sound like morphing into a vampire-werewolf-zombie-_something._

Vampire would suit Seto best: he already has the coattails, cold-blooded, and blood sucking going on for him ('cause he's a _businessman_). All he needs are a pair of sharper canines, then he can haunt the neighborhood children in his creepy dragon-themed mansion. Belated Halloween, Domino.

I snicker at the thought, unintentionally drawing Yugi's attention. "What's funny?"

"Ah, nothing. Just thought it's a shame that Seto doesn't participate in Halloween," I answer, waving a hand nonchalantly. Yugi raises a brow. "You celebrate Halloween in Japan?"

"With all the cosplays, we might as well."

"Ah, there goes the reinforcement," Yugi announces. I glance back to Seto and Joey; a stubby middle-aged man is _waddling,_ with how his weight and the gravity must be affecting his gait, their way. I'm guessing he's the manager: He has a tie.

"I think I see Joey's future." Yugi snickers beside me. He turns to me with a grin plastered on his face. "Bet you ten bucks, Seto will scare off the manager."

"With how familiar you are with this, I don't think I should be betting against you, Yugi." I reason with him. He shrugs and goes back to watching.

The man stops in front of Seto, his head not even reaching the brunet's shoulder, and has to crane his neck as he glares at the teens—a failed attempt at intimidation. The squinted eyes with the fat jowls only serve to make his face resemble a swine's. Seto's height alone is more intimidating than all of him, and adding Seto's signature glare, the other guy would be backing off the next second. Lucky for him, Seto hasn't taken notice of him yet, too busy exchanging glares with Joey, who is impressively unfazed.

The man is speaking now, likely asking the two to leave, but he's still craning his neck and squinting his eyes. His voice doesn't travel through the glass, so my mind dubs him saying: _Hey, how's the weather up there?_

Bless my cousin's height (and may it rub off on me).

Seto notices him this time, redirecting his glare at the man, who subconsciously takes a step back. An awkward conversation ensues (I'm assuming), and though I can't hear what's being said, the expression on the manager's face is comical in itself.

"You must save a fortune from not needing cable." I turn back to Yugi.

"I wish." He snorts. "Any money I could have saved is spent on the black-whole I call a brother."

"What an endearing nickname. Seto's the walking brick-wall of the family."

"Black-whole and brick-wall... What an odd couple, yet it's somehow fitting." He hooks his finger under his chin, brows furrowing in concentration as if considering the matter seriously. "Though, we should cut Seto some slack. He's definitely more animated than a wall of dead bricks. He's more like a..." he trails off, his right hand waving in circles as he waits for the words to come: "...refrigerator with legs." He snaps his fingers at the epiphany.

"Refrigerator _and_ Joey. Now that's a perfect couple!" he exclaims, bright-eyed, the table jostling slightly when he slams his palms against it.

"Your wisdom astounds me."

"Of course. I'm the smartest person I know. ...Well, except for Seto, but he's a refrigerator, so he doesn't count."

As if sensing the insults, I feel a set of eyes glaring through the glass. I turn, and the two are heading out the door, Joey walking ahead of Seto.

"Here comes the bride," I warn Yugi. He turns to look behind him, and Joey's already there. The blond's gaze shifts to the uneaten burger on the table then back to Yugi. "How could you leave me behind!?" He glares accusingly.

Yugi just grins in return. "What? I don't like taking sides, Joey. You_ know_ that," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders. Joey grabs a side of Yugi's face and pulls. "Owwwu! Weq gwo!"

Joey releases his hold after a round of babbling, which coming from Yugi sounded adorable. "I swear you two are attracted to my face. You can't keep your hands off of it today," Yugi complains, rubbing his red cheek. Well, that came out suggestive...

"The only one who lusts after that underaged mug of yours is the guy seating across you," Seto retorts, and I turn rigid in my seat.

"Wha—" Yugi turns to me, a blush quickly spreading through his cheeks. Seto just busted me. Damn him!

"Stop joking, Seto." I snap at the brunet, Yugi's voice chorusing in the background.

"Aw, yer already readin' each other's thoughts!" Joey jeers. I have the sudden urge to punch the guy, but Yugi does it for me. Maybe we do have a connection...

It's Monday. Wonderful.

The fake date fiasco happened last Friday. The weekend was enough to thaw away the embarrassment Seto caused me, but I feel it might return when I see Yugi later.

I could just bury myself in the snow piled up in the front yard and surrender to the frigid hands of Nature—a true man's end. Then, I would save myself from the inevitable embarrassment _and_ having to shovel the snow! Surely Mom won't force her deceased son to do the chores... maybe.

(It's not like she practices dark magic, so she can't resurrect me from the dead. But then again she did name me. And the inspiration for my name remains illusive. Also, she really likes the movies where the main character makes a love potion to capture the person they have their eyes on, and she even admitted to trying it on Dad before—You know what? I'm not gonna take my chances.)

Never mind, my life is too good for me to cut it short.

Plus, there are things I haven't done yet, like drinking _legally_. Not that I particularly like alcohol. I just can't think of other reasons right now.

If I'm lucky, Yugi would be as dense as Seto said and wouldn't acknowledge my crush even though Seto practically spelled it out to him the other day. (And Seto is a fairly convincing person. When we were younger, he convinced his classmates that his hair wasn't green and that they were colorblind for seeing it as such. The teacher just looked the other way.) ...Wait. Is that a good thing?

_"Yami! How many times have I told you to clean up the yard!"_ I hear Mom's shout from downstairs. I stare out of my frosted window in disdain. The yard is covered completely under a thick blanket of snow. Has Elsa paraded here, or is Jack Frost to blame? (Disney movies: Mom's replacements for when she runs out of good chick flicks.)

_Can't you use your dark magic for that?_

"The yard's so clean it's white, Mom!"

Yugi's acting normal.

Huh.

I feel relief, with a tinge of disappointment.

Is the thought of us being together _that_ way incredulous to him? Or maybe just the idea of me being attracted to him in the first place? Because even I am skeptical about it.

Or is he straight? He's not homophobic, is he? We've talked about how Seto and Joey make a perfect couple, and he started that conversation, so he must be open-minded at the least.

Could it be he is already attracted to someone else?

I haven't notice him taking interest in anyone, though. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen him socialize with anyone else in school either, with the exception of me.

Does he even have other friends?

Maybe he's just friends with Seto's ninjas. I don't see either of them acting friendly with other students, so that's a possible explanation. Birds of a feather, those two.

Yugi doesn't interact with others beyond what's necessary for group activities and he often avoids eye contact when walking the hallways—a prerequisite for 'stealth mode' (bully avoidance). But I've seen him exchanging looks with Wong occasionally when she passes by our lockers or walks between our desks. And I know the latter is done _purposely_; her seat is in the front row and there are convenient routes to get there, not one of them involving crossing between Yugi's and my desks.

Could it be that they're having secret rendezvous and that I've been misinterpreting their stares of passion as glares? Supplementary Japanese class is their love nest, isn't it?

So Yugi's type are women who are out of his league... ? (If I could turn that to _men,_ I'd be right up his alley.)

I won't know for sure unless I ask. Now, how to approach this matter inconspicuously?

"Kujaku and Wong, are they hot?"

Yugi raise his brows at the question, then furrowing them. "Generally, yes," he answers, brows almost meeting as if he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"But specifically?"

"Dude, one's my sister," he reasons, a hint of a frown on his lips. _Didn't stop the pharaohs._

"And the other... ?"

"Is Vivian," he states curtly, with a full-on grimace. The expression is unbecoming on him. My fingers are itching to smooth away the crease between his brows.

"So?"

He sighs before replying with a deadpan face. "Let me summarize my answer with this:_ Ew._"

Ever so eloquent, this boy.

I guess I don't need to worry about competition from the opposite sex after all. I just mentioned the names of two of the most desired females in school, yet both garnered dismissive reactions. Competitors of the same sex however...

"Okay, how 'bout Ryuji Otogi? Is he hot?"

"Ew," he counters immediately. He pauses, blinks, then turns back to me with a dubious expression. "Wait, you think he is?"

"No."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Just checking."

I keep the would-be sigh of relief trapped in my lungs for the chance it might jinx me.

It'd be a twist if it turns out that Yugi only falls for fictional characters. Oh crap. He'd fall for Dark Magician, wouldn't he? Then they'd go on double dates with Seto and Blue Eyes—

"Those girls you mentioned, do _you_ think they're hot?" Yugi asks.

_I do, but I'm just not attracted to them. I'm attracted to you_—I'm not saying that.

Well, when you're stumped, borrow a wise man's words: "Ew."

"So who here is hot?"

"Me, obviously."

"So you think I'm hot." Where did this bout of confidence come from? Am I contagious?

_Can you read minds? 'Cause if you can, I was joking a few minutes ago._

I keep a composed mask on despite the nerves clawing its way into my skin. "Why would you say so?"

"Well, I look like you," he answers simply.

I feel like I've had this conversation before.

"Is this a roundabout way of confessing?" He tilts his head at me, and I find myself speechless. "You did seem like the narcissistic type," he affirms with a nod. I'm at a disbelief at how he's talking about this so flippantly.

"Have you been chatting with Seto?"


	6. Chapter 6

I'm a vampire.

It's the most valid reason I can think of for why the sun is having such adverse effects on me. Surely, human eyes don't burn from sunshine. That must be it... I'm a vampire.

It's time to shed this human mentality of waking in daylight when clearly it inconveniences me. I must compensate for all the years I've neglected my vampirism. I must presume my slumber...

"Yug'! Wake up! Ya'll be late for school!"

Foolish human, I will suck the blood out of you.

The blanket disappears, the air chilling my skin. I feel something grab my arms. I'm off the bed and on my feet in one pull.

"Okay, off to the bathroom ya go!" the voice says. A force pushes against my back, and my legs move on their own volition. I'm lead out of my room and into the bathroom. The tiled floor is cold when it meets my bare feet, and the door slams behind me. For a second I ponder if it was a ghost that woke me, but then something else catches my attention.

I stare bewilderedly at the impersonator on the mirror. (Vampires don't have reflections.) He got my hair wrong and, consequently, my _height_ as well.

Does he not know how essential the hairstyle is in duplicating someone? He's making a mockery of mimicry! I must throw my hair gel at him!

_Splat._

I wake up in the bathroom.

There's a splatter of goo on the mirror, and I'm met with my distorted reflection; I can't help but feel it's a bad omen. I pick up the all but empty container by my feet. A few more seconds pass before I realize what the mess is.

Who the hell wasted my hair gel!?

"Joey!"

_"I did nothing!"_

Aside from having to scrape hair gel off the mirror to fix my hair, my day starts normally: sleep walk the first ten minutes before waking up, doze off at the shower, and then wake up again in the kitchen, clean and dressed, with no recollection of how I got there. I suspect I have another personality taking over during those morning-minute blackouts, but I'm too lazy to care and Mom has always wanted twins anyways.

Half the table is filled with Grandpa's and my breakfast and the other half with Joey's late dinner, a sight I've grown familiar with in the month I've lived here.

Joey's body clock doesn't conform with Japan's timezone; I've dealt with jet lag by sleeping while Joey just contents with having dinner in daylight. Joey sleeps late, so he's awake till 2 a.m. in America, which is 3 p.m. in Japan: plenty of time for him to cook us breakfast, then man the game shop for Grandpa.

He makes up for his voracious appetite by being able to _cook_—a rarity in the Mutou family, as I've realized from the time I've suffered Mom's cooking, and a fact reinstated during my first meal in this house.

Grandpa can cook slightly better than Mom, though, so Joey and I didn't complain that time—also because it would have been rude and we didn't have anywhere else to stay; hotels are expensive!—but Joey insisting that he cooks the meals from then on (_"As thanks for putting up with us,"_ I added hastily) is a different matter altogether.

...Or at least I tried to convince Grandpa, but he knew it was a polite insult to his culinary skills.

Fortunately, Grandpa accepted Joey's offer—though it doesn't apply to dinner since Joey is usually asleep by then. Good thing Joey cooks in heaps, more than enough for our breakfast and my packed lunch. (I eat more during noon so I would only have half the normal portion for dinner. It's all about damage control.)

Something is amiss here: I see two blonds. That's a couple too many, and I only agreed on tolerating one.

But then again I'm not wearing my glasses, so I might be seeing double. Though my eyesight is usually just blurry. Shit, did I just get diplopia on top of my myopia!?

"Guess who?"

A female's voice.

There _are_ two blonds!

On the bright side, I don't have diplopia, but that means either Mom or someone else has visited. And it definitely isn't my mother who visited.

A worse case would be if it were Mai instead.

There's no mistaking that voice, but I'm not gonna put on my glasses to confirm my suspicion. Let's pretend as if doing so would delay the start of this sure-to-be nightmarish visit. Seeing is believing. My vision is impaired so my beliefs are questionable. ...Did I use that adage right?

Likely figuring out that I'm ignoring her, the _intruder_—she's not welcomed here!— answers herself. "It's me, silly!" she announces in an infectiously chirpy tone like it's supposed to be a joyous occasion. Do you see me smiling? I can't see me, but even I know I'm not smiling.

"Don't pout, Yug'. It's unmanly," Joey comments across the table.

Joey's beliefs must also be questionable.

I feel something perch itself on the bridge of my nose, and everything is suddenly clear. Clarity is tragedy, not the other way around, the song is wrong, and my glasses have betrayed me.

A pair of blue eyes stare at me with excitement that doesn't reflect my own. I brace myself against my chair, preparing for the aggressive assault Rebecca calls a _hug._ Chairs aren't huggable. I'm hoping the prospect of splinters will scare her away; they are the baby cousin of wooden stakes after all, and she might have some kind of lycan gene in her, considering how she's awfully fond of those mutts I'm allergic to.

I'm allergic to dogs and Rebecca (the latter is self-diagnosed), so she must be a werewolf! That makes total sense.

Wooden stakes kill werewolves, right? Or is it vampires that they kill?

I hear my subconscious telling me I'm dooming myself. Weird.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry, 'Me,' but I'm not 'Silly.' I think you got the wrong person," I try denial (and a bad pun). But isn't denial the first step to acceptance?

"But you _are_ being silly, Yugi! Would you forget your favorite cousin?!" she exclaims, and I'm assuming her question is rhetorical since she's already on the task of suffocating me to near-death like I've asked for it. She really can't expect me to answer when air can't enter my lungs nor can my voice escape my throat.

No matter the years of experience, I can never get used to almost dying in someone's arms. But I've gotten some sort of immunity towards food poisoning, so I guess that's a plus... ?

I just came to a realization: Horrendous cooking could be the cause of my lacking height.

Maybe the Mutou cuisine has mutated my genes somehow. Grandpa's short, Mom's short, and I'm not tall. Besides our stature and bloodline, what we have in common is the frequent consumption of our horrible cooking—something Mai hasn't gone through, and we're siblings, but she's tall!

I should share this revelation with my elders as soon as I can. Then I can rid myself of the poison they have mistakenly dubbed 'food.' The day when dinner stops deterring the physical growth of the Mutou clan will be a glorious day. Who knows? Maybe the food is also the cause of my bad eyesight, and when it completely fades from my system it would give way to my laser eyes! With the aid of my eyeballs, I shall carve my name on the tall tree by the Mutou ancestral home (game shop) as a reminder to my future descendants of my contribution. My greatness shall be revered for years to come—

Okay, my thoughts have taken a weird turn... Or have I always had weird thoughts? The lack of air must be getting to my brain. Does that mean I'm normally an airhead?

Seriously, Rebecca should let go soon.

"Your his only cousin," Joey counters after what felt like an hour, and I wonder if he is also suffering from asphyxiation—with how slow he is to come up with a witty retort—or if I'm just a fast thinker.

Rebecca loosens her hold, and I've never been so grateful for free oxygen; not since the last time she hugged (read: _attacked_) me, which was during last year's Thanksgiving. Is it that time already?

"Yeah, which makes me his favorite." Rebecca turns to Joey, her back facing me. I take the chance to slip away from the kitchen.

"That also make you his least favorite." Huh, Joey actually made a good argument there.

"Well, you're his only brother."

"Touché."

As I surreptitiously make my way to the door, I wonder if Joey can even spell that last word. I could comment on it, but escaping Rebecca's clutches takes precedence over affirming Joey's spelling skills.

I leave while the two are bickering (I think Joey might be developing a habit of arguing with people during meals, but it's working on my favor this time, so I can't complain). In my haste I've forgotten to pack my leftover breakfast for lunch, and I only realize this when I'm already two houses away. I stop, look back at the steps I've taken, and determine if lunch is worth crawling back within Rebecca's reach.

I resume my walk to school, empty-handed.

I guess it's time to cash in that compensation sandwich Yami owes me.

When we meet for lunch, the first thing that comes out of my mouth is "Buy me a sandwich."

"Ah, okay?" he answers, sounding uncertain. I'm taking it as a yes.

"A man does not go back on his words," I enlighten him as I point at a burger, which is technically a sandwich ('sandwich' sounds cheaper than burger, and you should use cheap-sounding synonyms when you bait people to pay for you). He chuckles at the action, but I let it slide 'cause he's paying for lunch. He buys the burger along with his food, then hands it to me. I nod in thanks.

"No packed lunch today?" he asks.

"It wasn't worth it," I tell him. Obviously, he's confused by the answer, but I don't plan on elaborating; I'm busy eating my burger. Unlike Joey, I don't speak with my mouth full (nor will I be coherent if I choose to since I don't have Joey's flexible mouth—that sounds wrong).

"Want some milk with that?" Yami offers. I have a feeling he's mocking my height. But what's free is free, so I take the milk.

Hopefully, I'd be full enough for half a dinner later.

"Kujaku and Wong, are they hot?"

Thank God I finished my drink before he asked that question.

"Generally, yes," I answer objectively, but I can't believe I'm actually saying this.

"But specifically?" he prods further. Why is he asking me this questions? Can't he go to all-knowing Seto for this? I'm _not_ a member of their gossip corner.

"Dude, one's my sister," I reason with him, hoping it would be the end of it. We should shift to more engaging topics like, I don't know, _mushrooms?_ Will I become tall if I eat those? It works on Mario.

"And the other... ?" Hope is lost with this one.

"Is Vivian."

"So?"

_Oh, the clueless you. You'll be buying me sandwiches till the end of forever, and you won't even know why._

"Let me summarize my answer with this: _Ew."_

That should be the end of that.

"Okay, how 'bout Ryuji Otogi? Is he hot?" Just when I think he is done, he throws another name at me.

"Ew," I counter impulsively. I don't even know who that is, but judging from the trend so far, it might be a male counterpart of Vivian. Where is this conversation heading exactly? Is he going to confess he's gay or some—"Wait, you think he is?"

"No."

This guy, gay or in denial? Wait, aren't those the same? "Then why did you ask?"

"Just checking."_ Checking what? Your sexuality or mine?_

He seems to end the conversation with that. Well, my turn to pitch.

"Those girls you mentioned, do _you_ think they're hot?"

"Ew." _Strike one!_

"So who here is hot?"

"Me, obviously." _Strike two! You're the same gender as yourself, so homo!_

"So you think I'm hot."

"Why would you say so?"

"Well, I look like you."

Silence means yes._ Strike three! You're out—of the closet!_

"Is this a roundabout way of confessing?" I tilt my head at him. "You did seem like the narcissistic type." I nod to myself.

"Have you been chatting with Seto?" he speaks up after a while.

"One does not simply chat with Seto. I'm not Joey," I tell him. "So Seto knows?"—which wouldn't be surprising. It's Seto.

"About what?"

"About _this."_ I just gesture to the whole of him. I'm not saying the word unless he says it first. I don't want to label him with the wrong sexuality lest he be offended. "Lighten up. It's nothing to be ashamed of... I think. I still see you the same way." I pat him on the shoulder.

I'm not gonna shun a friend just because of his sexual preference. I have few friends as it is—and not by lack of socializing on my part. Though I do prefer playing games. Games are just more interesting—friendlier, less likely to physically or emotionally hurt you, won't take your money without your consent or blackmail you, and simpler, even when they're complicated—compared to most people. If humans would just stop being _boring_ I'd have more friends.

Okay, I don't talk to most people beyond what's necessary, but that's a habit I've had since I started school and is needed for survival. 'Cause who has time to talk to people when you're busy avoiding people. (Children are mean, and their teenage counterparts aren't any better. School is basically a place teeming with dickens disguised as your schoolmates, who are out to make your life hell.)

I still have friends, though, and interesting ones at that: Joey, my brother from another mother, who has the fastest metabolism I know of personally, can pack a punch as much as he can pack a lunch for ten inside his stomach, and is someone who I can't help but share my secrets with even when I know he won't keep them to himself; and Seto, a genius teenage businessman who never accepts defeat, keeps tabs on the people around him to make sure he's always a step ahead, and won't hesitate to use blackmail—

I'm friends with an ex-delinquent tattletale glutton and an egoistic blackmailing know-it-all.

On second thought, maybe I need less interesting friends.

New country. New school. Should have gotten new friends, but only got one, and mostly got new enemies instead. And many of said enemies are brought on by said new friend.

What a costly friend Yami is. But he might be the only normal friend I have. (Normal being a relative term. The guy's related to Seto and everyone has his quirks; his weirdness is bound to show soon, or I simply haven't taken notice.)

I'm keeping him.

"We're friends," I remind him of the fact, and he better not forget it. I would have added 'forever,' but that could have creeped him out. I don't want to spend eternity with just Joey and Seto; they will drive me insane if they haven't already.

"Yeah,_ friends..."_


	7. Chapter 7

I dread getting home.

Home is a haven free from outside tormentors (inside tormentors are tolerable family members, such as Mom and Joey), and the one I have in Domino is essentially a bachelor pad.

But Rebecca's visit has ruined that.

I don't hate Rebecca—she's family. I can't hate family, not even Mai—but she's too_ clingy._ My skinship tolerance for females other than my mother is only up to a hug, and a hug from Rebecca is already _so much._ Normally, I don't even have to worry about any form of physical contact from the opposite sex; girls typically ignore me the whole year round (and teachers don't count as any form of sex), but Rebecca makes up for that in one visit.

But she hasn't always been this way.

There used to be a time when she found me gross and banned me from her tea parties simply because I was a boy—as every self-respecting five-year-old girl ought to do. I didn't mind. After all, I was a first grader who feared cootie contamination and thus found it pertinent to avoid its source: her kind. You could say we had a mutual disregard for each other.

Our parents had to coax forced acknowledgement out of us till the second grade: blood relations weren't enough to make a friendship between children. Plus, she couldn't believe we were actually related because of my weird hair. She hypothesized that I was a product of a lab experiment, some kind of mutant, and I didn't know what 'hypothesize' was but had a feeling she insulted me. It was then that my disregard for her turned to dislike.

The two-year gap between our ages didn't help foster our relationship either.

Also, I might have been a bit miffed that we were in the same grade despite her being younger. Rebecca was a child genius, and even when I tried to compete, I was only up to smart. Science and I didn't get along, and the subject was one of her many fortes.

As was the usual case with me, laziness won over and I backed out of the challenge I knew I couldn't overcome with minimum effort—the same thing happened with cooking. Plus, the extra studying took up time I could have spent playing games, which was detrimental to my happiness.

Happiness is a choice, and games are more important than being the smartest kid. I might not have been a child genius, but I was _wise_ (if wise were synonym to lazy). If the challenge had been game-related though, I wouldn't have withdrawn and might have even won, but then again Rebecca didn't know about the challenge in the first place since I only set it up for myself, so _technically_ I didn't lose to anyone.

Around fourth grade, during her grandfather's visit, things changed, and an ancient slab of stone was the catalyst for Rebecca's borderline incestuous feelings.

Rebecca was seven then. Most girls her age wanted to be rainbow unicorn princesses, but she wanted to be the queen of Egypt. Alas, she wasn't contented with just make-believing by herself anymore; she wanted a pharaoh to marry and a slave or two to do her bidding.

She demanded I be the slave.

I said no, and she threw a tantrum. Her grandfather, who was an Egypt archeologist, explained to her that I couldn't be a slave because I was related to her, the queen, which meant I was of royal blood. She wouldn't recognize our blood relations, though—_again,_ because of my hair—denying me a spot in the monarchy. To this, Professor Arthur chuckled and said that Rebecca would change her mind soon enough.

Should've known that chuckle was a premonitory laugh of evil.

Professor Arthur just came back from an expedition in Egypt and a trip to the museum was his idea of fun. God knew I had enough 'fun' from school already. Rebecca said I was ungrateful and should receive lashings for being a disobedient slave; she had spoken with such vehemence too. I was nine but I knew that Rebecca's behavior wasn't something an adult should condone, but there was Professor Arthur just _chuckling_ at her antics. I didn't know if it was favoritism or Rebecca's age just letting her get away with anything.

The rest of the ride to the museum was spent with Rebecca spielling off about her future plans as queen, which consisted mostly of the slaves doing the heavy lifting for her. The first task on the slaves' to-do list was to build her a pyramid. She then enumerated the following tasks while looking at me pointedly.

When we arrived at the museum we headed to the new display of ancient Egyptian artifacts Professor Arthur and his group had excavated. At that point, I just thought he was blowing his own horn. Rebecca was in awe, though—of the golden items probably. I imagined Mom would have loved to have some of those artifacts in her collection. Much as I knew games made me happy, shiny things did the same for girls, no matter their age. It was simple kid logic.

The trip was obviously planned with only Rebecca in mind, and I was wondering why Professor Arthur even brought me there in the first place. But then I concluded that he was that day's babysitter and that Mom was out with a _friend._ I didn't get the concept of dating back then, though I did think it was weird that Mom only went out with one male friend at a time. Wasn't more the merrier?

Professor Arthur showed us a stone tablet depicting two guys exchanging ghost stories during a campfire—or at least that's what I thought it was. He said that it was actually the nameless pharaoh dueling one of his high priests. (Up to that point I only knew of the nameless pharaoh as Rebecca's imaginary friend; the fact that he turned out to be somewhat real didn't really surprise me, mostly because I didn't care). He had me at 'dueling' and lost me the second I noticed Dark Magician carved on the tablet, which was awesome and almost made the trip worth it.

I just realized Blue Eyes White Dragon was there as well when Rebecca was suddenly a centipede latching unto my arm, demanding marriage. It was a total 180: promotion from unwilling slave to potential—still unwilling—husband. Professor Arthur told me that I resembled the nameless pharaoh and could possibly be his reincarnation, explaining Rebecca's abrupt change in behavior.

Rebecca further insisted that we weren't related, so we could get married; I countered that we were, so we couldn't. Professor Arthur inserted that pharaohs often marry their relatives.

I swear her grandfather is a bad influence on her.

Till this day, I have mixed feelings for Professor Arthur. Should I be flattered that he thought I was royalty or be mad that he sicced his granddaughter at me?

That year, Rebecca spent her summer vacation wasting mine: intruding on my home and personal space as she planned our wedding and reign, my mother indulging her fantasies all the while.

Mom saw the whole thing as 'cute.'

I might have inherited her eyes but clearly not her eyesight (which is somewhat unfortunate since Mom can spot a shoe sale from miles away, and a hunk even further, unaided, and I could use that visual acuity).

At the tender age of nine I felt utter betrayal from my kin. After that, I just didn't bother asking if Professor Arthur was from the mutual side of the family. Let it be a mystery unsolved because I didn't want to know anymore. On that note, I wasn't entirely sure how Rebecca and I were related either. Mom just said we were cousins.

Two years later, Uncle got a promotion, great news to everyone but Rebecca, especially because of what it entailed: relocation.

The day Rebecca's family were leaving for London, I had the widest smile while Rebecca was failing to hold back her tears; we were theatre's two opposing masks then, Melpomene and Thalia, _finally_ separating. And the story might have started as a tragedy for me, but the masks were traded in the end, and the last laugh was mine, sunshine-loving Rebecca sent to the city of rain and Yugi with one less unwanted limb (with how much Rebecca clung to me, she was an arm extension).

Promises to keep in touch were exhanged, with my fingers crossed behind me. Rebecca hugged me with all the strength a nine-year-old could muster before departing dejectedly, energy seemingly drained by the creases she left on my shirt. The adults thought I was faking cheer to not upset Rebecca, but the happiness was real. The smile wouldn't have stayed after their departure if I were keeping up appearance, but Mom didn't figure that out, so I wasn't scolded.

I left the airport in my fists-crumpled shirt, courtesy of Rebecca's almost-unyielding hold, dragging my mom to the arcade with a new bounce in my step and a strength in my pull stolen from Rebecca's hands. I might have went to the wrong direction, but it was a direction away from Rebecca nonetheless (and Mom redirected me halfway, so I still got to play). I remember thinking good riddance.

Okay, now that I think back on it, that last bit was immature of me.

Still, Rebecca's show of affection could use some mitigating. I was hoping the time away would have done that. Because openly rejecting didn't do the trick. Turns out absence makes the heart grow fonder. Damn.

In Earth everyone has seven look-alikes, and taking my admittedly peculiar hair into account, let's reduce that number to four for me. I've found one in Asia; Couldn't she have met another in Europe? The world is a smaller place, what with advancing technologies and easy travel.

Maybe I run out of luck, only having three doppelgangers and the third being the dead pharaoh.

Why does Rebecca have to be so shallow?

She should stop obsessing over a pharaoh's face and instead find someone who's a pharaoh on the _inside:_ peremptory and omniscient. ...Like Seto?

Egocentric and wiseacre seem close enough.

Never mind. He's too old for her.

Plus, Seto doesn't take any competition lightly (I swear that's the reason why he still keeps contact to this day, because he hasn't defeated me in Duel Monsters yet) and will likely test who's a better genius between the two of them. Rebecca isn't one to back out from a challenge either.

I wouldn't know who to root for.

I find each of them tolerably annoying in their own way. I'd want for both of them to lose, and that won't happen unless someone else gets dragged in, and I'm too lazy to be genius, nor do I know another sucker for the job.

If we go back to the face factor, there's always my discovered doppelganger for bait.

Yami probably resembles the nameless pharaoh more than I do. He's more mature in appearance, all sharp contours and jagged lines. On the other hand, baby fat still stubbornly clings to my cheeks and I doubt they'll be melting soon. That, coupled with my disappointing height and puberty-rejected voice, it seems I'll be forever young at the price of ID-faking accusations from movie theatres and bars for eighteen-and-overs. Online is not a problem, though. I can even photoshop my picture or just use Yami's if other people are dubious. What I won't tell he won't know—

A force yanks the back of my collar; I take a step back, following in surprise. I turn to meet a set of red eyes. Did I call the devil?

"What's the point of glasses if you're still walking into walls?" Yami says, amusement lacing his tone. He lets go of my shirt.

I look back, the previously unnoticed wall blocking my sight. I just narrowly avoided a surprise face-to-wall meeting there. Almost karma. "Ah, thanks. I didn't notice."

"You were spacing out. Found some cheese in the moon, Cadet? Send the rabbit my regards the next time you go," he jokes. How does he even know about the cheese myth?

"No luck in the moon, but there's your joke. It's so cheesy, Joey could eat it," I retort.

"I thought you'd say corny."

"I was gonna. That's the right term and it _was_ corny, but mine wouldn't have been." Explaining a joke makes it unfunny.

"Joey can eat that too!" he exclaims.

We resume walking. I try not to drift too deep into my thoughts as I keep pace with Yami. I got sidetracked. What was I thinking again? Oh yeah. Getting Rebecca a friend in my place. But how to introduce the new prey to the predator?

"Are you free after school this Thursday? You should come over," I tell him, setting the plan into place.

"What's the occasion?" he asks. I realise that it's the first time I'm inviting him over.

"Thanksgiving."

"Isn't that an American holiday? I'm Japanese."

"Yeah. It's usually a family affair, but friends are allowed over as well."

"Won't I be intruding?" Either he's shy or doesn't want to come over, but both are under the guise of politeness.

"You won't be. I have a relative who's visiting, and I can't stand her much. I prefer your company."_ And if she happens to prefer your company as well, I wouldn't mind either._

Should I be feeling guilt?

I've dealt with his fangirls; it's high time he deals with mine. One more won't hurt him, I hope. Anyways, unlike Vivian, the closest to aggresive Rebecca's gotten is her hugs.

I'll buy him a sandwich if things go awry.

"Okay. I'll go," he concedes, a smile lighting up his face. It startles me for a second, and my steps falter. "What's it about, though? Besides from giving thanks, obviously."

"Forced civility and dead turkey," I answer simply. I refocus my eyes on the road to stop myself from gawking. Somehow that smile was different than usual.

"That sound exciting..." he comments emphatically.

"We're only really there for the food."


End file.
